Resurrection Road
by Shadow-Ocelot
Summary: There's nothing more important that memory. It makes us who we are. But what happens when you lose all that?


**Disclaimer** If I owned it I wouldn't be writing fanfiction about it. ;)

**About "Resurrection Road"** This is one of those stories that I never thought I would write: an amnesiac courier story. It is the product of a what if concerning her backstory and I thought that if I could pull it off it would make an interesting plot so I figured I would give it a try and see where it takes me. The story will have three parts to it. The first will deal with the Courier's journey to New Vegas and her confrontation with Benny. The second will detail her continued search into clue of her personal past. The third will be the aftermath of finding out her roots and where she will make her final choice about which path she will take. I plan to add a lot of extra details, extend some quests, and underscore some of the more minor or supporting characters that seemed to have gone under-appreciated in the storyline. (Speaking of, if there's someone you think deserved a little more limelight suggest it to me and I'll see if I can fit them within the plot!) I want to keep this from being a carbon copy of the gameplay. That being said I will say that the prologue has almost exactly the same dialogue as the beginning of the game. I did this because not only do I know a few people that might read this that haven't played the game, but since this is probably the only time I will ever start at the beginning I figured what the hell... So sorry about that, I hope the details make up for it. Once it gets into chapter 1 and 2 I'll definetely start adding a lot more and begin twisting the Mojave for my own devices. Enjoy!

**Featured Characters** Ringo. Manny Vargas. Boone. Vulpes. Gorobets & First Recon. Benny. Swank (probably). A good deal of freeside. Uhm... yeah I'm still compiling characters. Oh and if you're looking for any particular kind of pairing its too early to tell yet, because I have no idea. I hadn't really considered pairings for this story. So if one happens it'll be product of the plot. The one thing I do know is that it won't be a Courier/Boone story.

_R&R_

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><p><em>The phoenix hope, can wing her way through the desert skies, and still defying fortune's spite; revive from ashes and rise. <em>

– _Miguel de Cervantes_

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><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

**Miss Fortune**

Until his patient had awakened from her extended bullet-induced slumber Doc Mitchell had been sure that she was the luckiest individual in the Mojave, perhaps even the world. Then she had opened her eyes and the elderly physician realized that what he had thought his subconscious was whispering about her being _Miss Fortune_ had really been the word _misfortune_ and it was a warning that all was not all right with the courier. She woke as if someone had flicked a switch on inside her head. At first she just stared straight ahead of her, eyes half-lidded against the sunlight that managed to peak in through the blinds, and then she slowly turned her head and looked at him.

If he had not known that she had been ambushed, kidnapped, and then shot execution style in the head he would have not been able to guess it from her actions. Her demeanor showed no signs of emotional trauma that one would expect from such an incident. In fact, as she pulled herself to a sitting position, she showed no signs of emotion _at all_. To say that she seemed robotic would have been understating it, for even some robots showed some signs of personality (even if that was just programming, but the girl sitting before him was empty. The vacancy in her dark eyes gave him the eerie feeling that he was looking at blank slate, _reset_.

She did not even act confused about her surroundings, merely curious as her gaze swept around the room. Her only moment of concern came when she tried to stand up and had faltered. Mitchell was quick to act and grasped her arm to balance her, urging her to sit back down. "Easy there, young lady, you've had quite the experience. Just stay put until you gain your bearings back. Don't worry, you're safe now." He had no idea why he was telling her that because she didn't look worried at all, but he supposed old habits died hard, and when you had told so many people that it just became part of the repertoire.

"Safe?" She spoke for the first time. Initially he thought that she had some kind of accent, for the cadence in which her voice came across her lips was finely cultured and mature; it was the kind of voice you expected from someone much older than this courier looked. However, the tone wasn't deep and held that youthful edge to it, an almost childlike quality. "Was," She paused, eyes staring straight forward for a few heartbeats as if she were looking for the words, and then directed her attention to him, "I in danger?"

Mitchell studied her. He had thought that her wounds, despite being in her head, would not have any kind of lasting damage. Everything that he knew about medicine told him that she should _not_ have any issues remembering things, for that part of her brain that had been hit had not been the part that controlled memory. "You don't remember what happened to you? Do you remember your name?"

This time she stared at a point on the floor, the gears behind her eyes working swiftly and determined. Yet nothing came of all that work and she bit her lip and shook her head. "I don't know. I don't remember anything."

"Well," he began slowly, patting her arm, "that's all right. You might be suffering temporary effects from the three days you were out. People who had gone through traumatic events are known to try to erase those unpleasant memories. With some time you will probably remember what happened."

She wrung her hands together in her lap, ruby locks falling forward to frame her face. "Sir, I think I understand that I must have gotten hurt at some point, however, I do not know how. Furthermore, I cannot remember where I even am. I don't… I don't remember _anything._ I can remember words; I can remember how to tie my shoes. I can even remember that I'm no good with a gun. But why can't I remember who I am?_"_

Once more Mitchell was surprised by her controlled calm. She thought through her circumstances with an analytical mind. Anyone else would have been crying or screaming. "There is a type of amnesia that just effects the memory." Mitchell said. He hadn't had any cases where he had dealt with amnesiacs personally, but he had _heard_ about them and he had certainly read about them. If she was suffering from amnesia then he was unsure of how to approach it at the moment. This was a particularly questionable case. Yet he knew that there was a margin for error in his calculations of her injuries as well as the possibility that whatever happened had completely shorted out her brain and she'd blocked not just the incident but everything in her past from access. He explained what he knew to her. "I think the thing to concentrate on is taking it one step at a time. I have some tests to run to see how you're doing if you're up to it. If you want to wait, I understand. You've been through a lot."

The young woman took a very deep breath and sighed. "I guess we need to get this over with. I would like to know if there might be anything else wrong with me. You know, _other_ than my apparent broken brain."

-O-O-O-

Doc Mitchell ran all of his tests. He began with the simplest of them: seeing if she could walk across the room. Given a minute to relearn her balance was all it took, and although she appeared a little wobbly on her feet she made it just fine this time without needing any help from him. He proceeded to do a short physical examination that made sure that all her faculties were working properly. As he handed her the first of a set of small weights to test her muscle strength she handed him back a question.

"What _did_ happen to me?" She lifted the weight, her arm bending back and forth with ease.

"From what I was told you were shot up in the cemetery. A group of men had taken you up there and then buried you."

She nodded, emotionally unfazed by this news. "Who rescued me?"

"That'd be Victor. Curious fella. Sorta odd. And I don't mean cause he's a robot. I couldn't tell you much about him. He's real friendly, don't get me wrong. You just get the sense you're not seein' the whole picture. Its just a feelin'. He keeps to himself mostly. If you want to know more about him then give him a shout. He lives in a shack on the edge of town. When you leave here just head right and follow the road."

The girl seemed to take in every detail as he spoken, hanging on everything Doc Mitchell told her. _Like she's filing it away in her memory banks._ He still couldn't get the image of a robot residing under her skin out of his head. It didn't help she remained so unmoved by everything.

"So, where _am_ I anyway?"

"You're in a town called Goodsprings. We're named for the water we have down at the Goodsprings Source. It's a quiet little town, but that's how we like it. We don't go lookin' for trouble, but it occasionally comes lookin' for us." _Probably more than we'd like._ He admitted to himself, taking the weight back and depositing it on the table beside him. He let her through an eye examination to see if there had been any ocular damage and had her read a short passage out of one of his books. She passed both with flying colors.

When everything he could think of was complete he gave her a clean bill of bodily health and went to retrieve her possessions from the box he'd put them in. He'd had to dispose of her bloodstained clothing but a pair of knives, a pistol, and a note describing her most recent job for the Mojave Express had survived. "These are yours. I hope you don't mind me taking a look at that note. I thought it might help me find a next of kin."

She took them wordlessly, but for the first time he saw a flicker of … _something_ cross her stony features. Perhaps she was thinking about if she had a family or not, or maybe she was upset that he had looked through her things. As quickly as the expression had been there it disappeared and she gave him an awkward, but genuine smile. "Thank you for patching me up, Doctor."

"Don't mention it. That's what I'm here for." He told her. "I don't think there's a reason to keep ya here any longer. If you want to go you're more than free to. Although before you go I want to give you something." She agreed to wait and he disappeared from the room once more to return with a few outfits that used to belong to his late wife and a few provisions. In addition to everything else he held out an electronic device, a pip-boy. He explained that everyone was given one in the vault where he grew up and now it might come to some use for her. "I know what its like to have something taken from you. You'll probably need all the help you can get trying to figure things out and this is a pretty handy little tool."

"Thanks again, really." She told him, pulling on the vault suit that had been on the top. It wasn't much protection against all the dangers out there, but at least it was something for now. As he led her to the front door she inquired more about Goodsprings, trying to figure out if there was anywhere she could buy supplies.

"There's a general store down the road. Run by a guy named Chet. He don't do nothin' fancy but he has all the basics. He can at least get you on your way. You should also talk to Sunny Smiles. She'll probably be able to help you get back on your feet and prepared for the wasteland."

"Do you know anything about who shot me?" She ventured hopefully, her hand on the doorknob.

"I'm sorry to say that I didn't see him or the men that were with him. You might check in town. Could be someone saw which way they was headed. Your best bet would be Trudy, the bartender at the Prospector Saloon. She knows _everyone_ in town and if anyone saw anything she'd know about it."

"I guess I'll see you later then." She turned to go.

"Be careful out there, but if you ever get hurt feel free to come on back and I'll fix you up. Just… try not to get _killed_ anymore."

-O-O-O-

The Courier leaned against the post outside Doc Mitchell's house and dug out the slip of paper he'd given her along with her the rest of her property. She hoped it would give her some idea of where to start figuring out everything.

**MOJAVE EXPRESS DELIVERY ORDER**

_**INSTRUCTIONS**_

Deliver the package at the north entrance to the Vegas Strip, by way of Freeside. An agent of the recipient will meet you at the checkpoint, take possession of the package, and pay for the delivery. Bring the payment to Johnson Nash at the Mojave Express agency in Primm.

Bonus on completion: 250 caps.

_**MANIFEST**_

This package contains:

One (1) Oversized Poker Chip, composed of Platinum

_**CONTRACT PENALTIES**_

You are an authorized agent of the Mojave Express Package until delivery is complete and payment has been processed, contractually obligated to complete this transaction and materially responsible for any malfeasance or loss. Failure to deliver the proper recipient may result in forfeiture of your advance and bonus, criminal charges, and/or pursuit by mercenary reclamation teams. The Mojave Express is not responsible for any injury or loss of life you experience as a result of said reclamation efforts.

**END MOJAVE EXPRESS DELIVERY ORDER**

She dug through her pockets again, trying to find this "oversized poker chip" that she was supposed to be carrying and could find no trace of it. The first thing that came to mind was the most logical motive for being shot in the head: robbery. Apparently somebody out there had seen fit to take her out just so they could take her delivery. Part of her thought it was a ridiculous reason to kill someone, but another, deeper part of her somehow knew there was something decidedly important about this certain platinum chip. Perhaps she had known about why it was important, or just known something about it, and _that_ was the reason she was killed. She perused the paper a few more times as she thought, pulling all the separate scenarios out of the air and picking through them.

Before she knew it she was ambling down the hill towards town, the note still gripped tightly in her hands. Her mind was lost so deep in her own thoughts that she didn't hear the creaking approach from her right. Only when a computerized voice addressed the wandering young woman did she realize she was no longer along. "Howdy partner! Well, aren't you lookin' as fit as a fiddle!"

The girl was startled enough to almost lose the paper and was forced to snatch it out of the air before the breeze took it out of reach. When she turned to the owner of the voice she saw a robot. Robot. "You must be Victor."

"I sure am, little lady."

"Uhm, thanks for digging me out of that grave."

"Don't mention it! I'm always ready to lend a helping hand to people in need!"

"How did you find me?" Did robots have some kind of people radar that let them know when one was in danger?

"I was out for a stroll that night when I heard a commotion up at the ol' bone orchard. Saw what looked like a bunch of bad eggs so I laid low. Once they'd run off I dug you up to see if was still kickin'. Turns out you were so I hauled you off to the Doc."

"Do you know who those men were that attacked me?"

"Can't say I'm familiar with the rascals."

Too bad. Out of any of the witnesses she would have bet that a robot would have the best memory. She would have to rely on whatever information she gathered from the people of Goodsprings to help her on her way. "Well, thanks anyway."

"Happy trails!" And off Victor rolled, happily 'humming' some western styled tune.

Somehow she had a feeling her trail was going to be anything but happy.

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><p>Well, that's the prologue. Its not really much now but hopefully it will start shaping up next installment. I wanted to wait until I had them both done, but I can't stand a finished chapter just sitting on my harddrive without posting so yeah...<p>

**Chapter 1** - The Courier gets to know the little town of Goodsprings and starts to hunt down the clues to who shot her.


End file.
